and let this moment last
by ohmygodwhy
Summary: "Kano remembers the first birthday party he'd been invited to." — happy birthday to my tiny tiny son, give this boy happiness


Kano remembers the first birthday party he'd been invited to.

He was around five, small and battered. It was a huge party, complete with a bouncy house and gift bags and too many children to count (he'd been invited out of sheer luck- every school had at least _one_ rich kid; this one had felt the need to have the entire grade at his house). He hadn't actually gone into the bouncy house- he would've had to take his jacket off- but it was fun all the same.

"Happy Birthday," he had said to the boy.

.

He remembers the year his mother had taken him to an amusement park. She'd been in a good mood, in such a good mood that day, good enough to take him by the hand and smile, pulling him onto ride after ride (they were rickety and terrifying and the butterflies in his stomach threatened to make him sick- but she was happy and so was he, for her). She'd gotten him ice cream. He dropped it. He dropped it, and she didn't get angry. She smiled at him with the lopsided smile that only shown through the cloud of alcohol on the best of the best days.

"I love you, Shuuya," she had said.

.

He remembers the birthdays spent alone. His mother had forgotten one year (or maybe she had deliberately drunken herself to sleep that night, maybe she didn't want to remember the parasite that had ruined her life). So he had bought a small cupcake from the bakery in town- the cheapest one he could find; he had found a candle somewhere in the back of a cabinet, and he had lit it in the dark. His hands had been shaky (one wrist still wrapped in bandages rubbing against irritated skin) and his smile had ached (ached on an aching cheek, his mother's hand still lingering and it wasn't really anything new), and it had tasted bittersweet. He'd whispered the song to himself in the darkness of his room, and it had tasted bittersweet.

"Happy Birthday, Shuuya," no one had said.

.

He remembers the first birthday he'd spent in the Tateyama household. He'd been surprised they'd even thrown him a party. The cake wasn't huge. There was no one there but he and the people he liked to call family. The presents were small and few. But it was for him. Ayano had thrown her arms around him, Ayaka had ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, Kenjirou had grinned at him. Seto hugged him fiercely, and even Kido had given him a smile and a grudging pat on the back. He was at home- he felt at home.

He was at home- "Happy Birthday, Shuuya," they had said- and he was not ashamed to say he nearly cried.

.

He remembers the first birthday spent in their apartment. It was just them now- just Kido, Seto, and him. They didn't have money for anything extravagant, barely had money for the necessities. He had honestly hoped they'd forget, so they wouldn't have to undergo the struggles of finding something suitable for the occasion. He'd woken up early, he'd gotten dressed quietly, he'd almost slipped away unnoticed. But Seto had caught him by the arm and Kido had made breakfast, and for the first time in weeks he felt at ease.

"Eat your breakfast, idiot," Kido had said.

"Your special birthday breakfast," Seto had added.

.

It's dark outside this year. It's dark and he really doesn't want to go back, doesn't want to be disappointed with whatever he may find, doesn't want to get mad at himself for being disappointed. It's dark outside when he reaches the base, dark outside and late enough for everyone to be in bed, dark enough for him to feign innocence the next morning, dark enough to leave the day behind and pretend another year hasn't passed since her death, since they left, since he'd messed up.

It's bright inside when the door swing open- much brighter than it should be when everyone's asleep and happy. Much brighter than his eyes can take and he's blinking his way inside and there are arms around his shoulders (just like Ayano's), there are hands ruffling his hair (just like Ayaka's) there are grins flashing before his eyes (just like Kenjirou's).

"Happy Birthday, Kano!"

Seto hugs him fiercely again and Kido smiles again, pats his back again.

"It's my _birthday?_ No _way,"_ his voice feels foreign on his tongue, his cheeks feel light and he's _smiling_ without any help.

"Yeah, it's your birthday, you idiot," Kido's voice holds no hostility.

"Why were you out so late?" Seto's voice holds only care.

"Wait, wait, we have presents!" Momo's voice holds nothing but childish excitement.

All three statements sound at once and he can only smile, all heavy thoughts forgotten for now, because he's home. It's dark outside and bright inside, the cake isn't huge and there aren't many presents and the only ones there are the people he likes to call family- a mismatched tactless little family- and he's home.

"Jeez, not even confetti? So much potential, wasted," he says.

"Thank you," he says next, "Thank you so much,"


End file.
